


Lion's Lair

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Dubious Consent, Feral Dimitri, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 12:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: Felix goes looking for trouble.(He finds it.)





	Lion's Lair

**Author's Note:**

> Big warning here! Authorial intent is one thing, but bottom line: if you are at all upset by or sensitive to depictions of sexual assault, skip this one. Stay safe out there, thanks for checking this out, and otherwise, enjoy.

There was an alcove at the back of the cracked cathedral, just out of reach of the moonlight that streamed in through the ruined ceiling. This was, Felix was told, where their professor had first found Dimitri… or whatever creature it was that now wore his skin. It was where that beast laired still, bristling and pacing and muttering in the dark. Felix could hear him clearly, here in the otherwise perfect stillness of the night. He stood silent between the rotting pews, arms crossed, breath misting, listening to the boar and his congress with the dead. 

Few others could stand it, he knew. Time to time they might visit, sure, but they never remained very long. They were all sympathetic words and sighs and long looks and, inevitably, excuses as they scurried off to while away the hours somewhere... easier. Somewhere they could convince themselves they weren’t all following a beast’s blind, bloody orders, dutiful to a fault, abandoning the Kingdom’s living, breathing, _suffering_ people in favor of enacting some farfetched fantasy of revenge. They were all abed, now. His friends and acquaintances and partners in arms, Sir Gilbert… and his father, as well, returned with them from the valley of the damned to fulfill his duty to his poor, mad king. 

Or just to honor an old oath made to a man long dead. 

He made a thin sound of disgust. 

Ahead, the pacing and muttering paused. Felix raised his head, eyes narrowed, peering into the shadows. 

The beast growled at him. “Who is there,” it demanded. Felix said nothing. What was the point? The thing that lived here had no interest in the living, preoccupied as it was with its head full of ghosts. There was a long silence… and then a scoffing sound, brief and disgusted. And then the sound of metal scraping across stone. 

No, Felix thought, tightening his jaw. Not metal at all. Bone. That damned lance his father had no doubt fought dearly for, sacrificed much to retrieve. The crest stone buried within it winked to life, red and vaguely sinister in the dark, marking the beast’s location with its glow. 

“I ask again,” it barked at him. “Who is there.” 

It was strange, Felix thought, how very composed he could sound. But then, hadn’t he always been that way? A shell of composure concealing the truth within. He lifted his chin and curled his lip. 

“You still have the one eye,” he said, disdain dripping from each word. “So don’t pretend at blindness. Or do you truly not know me? Please. I don’t believe that for a moment.” 

A pause. That little crimson light moved, a red streak in the darkness, and then winked out. “Felix,” it said, and something about the way it breathed his name made the hair stand up at the back of his neck. Ridiculous.

“That’s right,” he said, and his voice, at least, was steady. “But don’t let me interrupt.” 

He expected little, perhaps no response, for the boar to retreat back to the depths of his den and resume his mindless pleading, begging his ghosts for patience. Instead, he lumbered forward into the light. 

Felix dropped his gaze immediately. He hated that he couldn’t bear to meet that one shining eye of his, but so it was, and there was no sense dwelling on it. The moon shone bright and full overhead, casting their shadows in dark, stark contrast, and so he studied the shape of the beast’s between them, instead. Huge and hulking and monstrous, the fur of his cape like a bristle about his neck. His unkempt hair, hanging in matted tangles. The long line of Areadbhar at his back. 

The sound of his breathing, heavy and labored. Felix frowned, and the silence stretched, and stretched, and shivered, and snapped. 

“Why are you here,” the beast demanded, and Felix felt some measure of petty pride that he hadn’t broken first. “I have seen you here before,” it went on, heedless of any answer Felix might have given. “Day after day. Watching me. It is much like before, is it not?” 

“...Before,” he repeated, before he could remind himself that talking was pointless and swallow the response. 

“Yes, before.” The shadow moved. Arms splayed out, as though to indicate the ruined cathedral around them. “Do you think I’ve forgotten? I haven’t. I remember more than you know. Day after day, with your eyes always following me. You knew, didn’t you, Felix?” A soft laugh, low and mocking. Felix clenched his jaw. “You did warn them. They ought to have listened. But they don’t, do they? Or they do, but they do not _hear._” 

“What are you talking about,” he snapped. “Speak plainly, beast. Or even better, not at all.”

Footfalls and the soft whisper of cloth as the shadow and its master turned and began pacing, as it was so often inclined to do. “What I cannot understand is why you remain. Is it your father?” 

“My _father,_” Felix repeated, incredulous. 

“Yes.” The beast paused and turned, and Felix caught that one glaring eye for just a moment before returning his gaze safely to the floor. “Well, what else?” His voice went low and soft, and something sick clenched in Felix’s stomach. “It cannot be loyalty to me. Perhaps to you, or to a memory of what we once were? You know he has never cared for your pain, not since --” 

“I am right here,” Felix fairly snarled at him. “I have _always_ been here, you’re right. Here and watching and _alive_, with you, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? What do the living matter, when the dead are so very demanding?” 

“Not always,” said the beast, softly. 

“Are you talking to me?” Felix demanded, lifting his eyes to glare defiantly. “Or to _them?_ Tell me.” 

“You,” it said, with startling clarity, that cold gaze piercing him through. “They kept me in that cell for six months.” 

His stomach clenched with guilt and fury. “As though there was anything I could have done,” he spit. His fingers clenched into fists. “I wanted to, you know. Every day, I dreamed of taking my father’s troops and laying siege to the capital. Every day, I thought up new and more fanciful ways to _save_ you. Every damned day, and do you know what stopped me?” He laughed, cold and dead and mirthless. “_If we force their hand, they may actually kill him,_” he sneered, mimicking his father’s voice. “That’s what he told me. Every day. So it was out of fear for your life that we left you, trying to find some impossible, fanciful resolution, trying to _negotiate_ on your behalf, on the behalf of the entire Kingdom!” 

This was why he had resolved not to speak to the thing. Because speaking to it inevitably led to this -- fists clenched, jaw aching, shouting frustrations that fell on deaf, uncomprehending ears. His breathing came hard, too fast, too shallow. 

“And then they killed me anyway,” the beast said. “How sad for you.” 

“Shut up,” Felix hissed. “You have no idea what I felt. How could you? Do you even _feel_, anymore? Or is all your agonized posturing just more product of your delusions?” 

That one eye of his closed, slowly. Felix watched as the beast swallowed, the ball of his throat bobbing in the moonlight. “I feel,” he said. “I wish it were as you say. Do you know how inconvenient it is, Felix? To feel?” 

“Shut your mouth. You don’t get to play the softtouch now. I know what you really are.” 

“To kill and kill and _kill_, feeling all the while?” 

“I said shut _up!_” 

And he drew his sword. He barely even thought about it. One moment, it was sheathed quietly at his side, the next it was held between them and quivering with rage. 

That one eye opened, just as slowly as it had closed. 

“I fought my way out,” said the beast. “I fought with my fists and my teeth until I was slick and soaked through with the blood of good soldiers, men and women of Fhirdiad, some of whom I’d known all my life. I swear, I can taste it, still. I picked my weapons off their corpses… metal from rotting meat. I left Dedue to die.”

“And then you _disappeared,_” Felix reminded him, desperately. “You disappeared for five years. Were it not for the professor and some beastly instinct that held you to uphold a naive promise, you would be missing still, off to throw your life away in Enbarr!” 

The beast simply eyed him, silently, running its gaze along the length of his blade.

“I will not die until that woman is dead,” it said, flatly. “But if you wish to try, I will not stop you.” 

“I never wanted you dead,” Felix found himself saying, words he had never really meant to speak aloud. “Never. I wanted you alive, damn you. I wanted you to confess to what you were, to stop hiding behind your, your…” he gestured, pointing the blade forward. “Your image. Your facade. Your chivalrous idea of what a prince _ought_ to be. It was the lie that made me sick, always the _lie._” 

“It was no lie,” the beast sighed, then, long and deep and weary. “Fhirdiad’s prince, and Felix’s boar.” He laughed, sharp and cold. “Two sides of the same coin, my friend.” 

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare.” 

He nodded. “Very well.” Flicked that one-eyed gaze disdainfully over him. “It is treason to draw a blade against your King,” he reminded him. “What would your father say, I wonder… ah.” His gaze went slack and distant. “Or you, Glenn, it is true. No. I am sorry. I cannot speak for his state of mind…” 

A faint part of him wondered if he had done it on purpose, even as the red tide of rage swept through and carried him and all rationality off in its path. “_Boar,_” he roared. “Draw your weapon,” he seethed, and then he shot forward, poised to strike. 

He needn’t have worried. The beast caught his blade with ease, as ever, and metal shrieked as the edge of it scraped down the haft of his holy weapon. Felix’s breaths came heavy and ragged, puffing out of him in short, visible gasps, crystallizing in the cold air as he struck wildly, again and again. There was no finesse to it, no art, barely any _skill_, only hot fury and the strength it put in him.

“How _dare_ you,” he snarled, swinging only to be rebuffed, over and over. If the beast felt anything about the assault, he didn’t bother showing it, and that, of course, only made Felix all the more furious. That impassive face, that cold, unflinching gaze, distant and mindful as always only of the regard and wishes of the dead! “You don’t get to do this,” he cried, swinging and colliding with steel or bone or one and then the other. “You don’t get to invoke _Glenn_ like some cheap final word to score _meaningless_ points in an _imaginary_ game that only _you_ are playing! You don’t get to, Dimitri!” He slammed the blade forward in a vicious thrust, and the beast merely turned aside, his stinking cape fluttering, letting Felix stumble clumsily past. He whirled on his heel, teeth grinding. “You want to know what _Glenn_ thinks?” He charged forward once more, renewing the assault. “I’ll tell you! He thinks nothing! He thinks _nothing_ of any of this at all, because Glenn is _dead!_” 

“You are wrong,” his opponent said, so very softly. 

And then he stepped and turned and spun that lance of his around, quicker than Felix could follow, the red stone fixed into it gleaming bright. It caught him just behind the knees, sweeping him clear off his feet like nothing, sending him flat on his back in the thin film of snow that coated the cathedral floor. The impact of his landing knocked the breath out of him, and he rolled and turned on his side, vision blurred, lungs burning, until the shock of it passed and his chest heaved and he could breathe, again. 

Hands and arms hauled him to his feet, gripping him by the back of his coat at the shoulders, cloth pulling and seams groaning protests all the while. The beast was every bit as impossibly strong as Felix remembered -- more so, if anything. As though to demonstrate, he lifted him clear into the air, inches off the ground. 

“He is here,” he said, quietly, practically speaking in his ear. Felix jerked away from him, kicking back against his grip, finding only air. “Here with the rest of them, thirsty for her blood. _Demanding_ it. If you could hear him, Felix…” 

“Let _go_,” Felix gasped, then, desperately. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to be here, doing this. What the hell had he ever thought to accomplish, coming here? “I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t care about your ghosts, your delusions, your _revenge_, I don’t want to hear it, do you hear me? Let me --” 

He shoved him forward through the air, tossing him casually as one might have flung trash toward a bin, and Felix stumbled forward on his knees and caught himself with his hands, the impact of it reverberating up through all his bones. His sword skittered off across the stone, lost in his hurry to break his own fall, and before he could start after it the beast was on him again, his shadow falling over him, poised to strike. 

Cursing, Felix turned and balled his fist and swung wildly, putting all the force of his rage behind the blow. He struck true, and pain exploded down his arm from the impact even as the beast stumbled back, raising one hand to his face, his expression one of faint surprise. When he drew his hand away, his fingers were spotted with blood. 

Felix shook his hand out, flexing his fingers cautiously. Nothing broken, at least. 

And the beast grinned. “You’ll regret that,” he promised, and then he tossed Areadbhar aside as though it were a child’s toy, sending that holy relic skittering thoughtlessly across the stones. 

And then he was upon him. 

Felix was fast, fast enough to dodge the first blow and the second, but the third glanced off his jaw and sent stars exploding behind his eyelids. While he was still reeling from that, the mad prince picked him up by his lapels and walked two great lumbering strides forward to slam him bodily against a crumbling stone pillar. His head hit the stone with a _crack_ that echoed throughout the chamber, and the red haze over his vision faded to sick, blotchy blacks and greys. His ears rang, his stomach lurched, and he went limp and slack in that hellish strong grip, fighting off a wave of nausea. 

“I did not _wish_ to hurt him,” the prince said, then. “You saw for yourself. He left me no choice.” A pause. He tilted his head, like a bird, like a beast. “No. I would never…” 

“_Fuck_ you,” Felix interrupted him on a wheeze, struggling feebly in his grip. “Do it, then,” he taunted. “Kill me for my impudence, your _Majesty._” 

“Silence,” he demanded, in a whisper. 

Felix paid him no mind. 

“Make it quick, if you have any mercy in you at all,” he said. “And I won’t be one of your ghosts, do you hear me? I won’t. Don’t you dare.” 

“I said _silence!_” the boar prince bellowed, so loud it shook the splintered, rotting rafters. He bent his arm and pressed it to Felix’s throat, bearing forward, cutting off his desperate, panting breaths. Felix reached up, seizing his wrist, clutching weakly at him and kicking out furiously with his feet. He connected only with hard plate and thick leather, bouncing ineffectually off of him, until his vision began to cloud, until the color began to siphon from the world and spiral into black.

For a long, horrible moment, he was certain that this was the end, that Dimitri was going to kill him, after all, babbling to his dead brother all the while. Most surprising of all was that he found himself facing that thought not with fear, but with deep, unfathomable, bottomless _regret._

And then, of course, his prince let him go. 

Felix slumped bonelessly to the ground, clutching the bruised, raw flesh at his throat, wheezing. Even that hurt, the air whistling through his windpipe. He shook his head, pulled himself onto his knees, and retched up bile. 

Dimitri watched him, arms crossed, his expression utterly impassive. 

Felix slumped backward, back against the stone, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He panted raggedly, still. His chest hurt, his throat burned, and his head was pounding. Not to mention the taste in his mouth. Blood and acid. Wonderful. 

But he was alive. 

Leather creaked and armor rattled. Felix opened his eyes to find the prince crouched down in front of him, a little stitch between his brows. His lip was swollen, he noted, with some pride. A little crust of blood ran down his chin. At least he’d managed that much. 

The prince reached out, hesitantly, like he was going to touch him. Felix flinched back, baring his teeth. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. 

He dropped his hands. Their breaths misted in the air, mingling. 

“It’s… not the worst… condition... you’ve left me in,” Felix wheezed, eventually, between sharp, sucking breaths. He closed his eyes and swallowed, full body flinching at the pain of it. “Though I’ll grant you... it’s close." 

Dimitri nodded, wordless.

“Fuck,” Felix mumbled, to nothing and no one at all. 

“May I speak?” 

It was so absurd, he had to laugh, painful though it was. “Can I stop you?” 

He hesitated, and then shook his head. “I suppose not.” 

“Then speak.” 

“Very well.” But instead of continuing right away, he just looked at him, studying him quietly, his expression inscrutable. Felix closed his eyes again, if only so he couldn’t study that expression, trying to parse its meaning. Eventually, he continued of his own volition, unprompted. “It’s true, what I said,” he said. He sounded so fucking _sad._ Felix cracked his eyes open and gazed up at him warily, still gasping for breath on the floor. Pathetic. “Two sides, Felix… but the same coin, all the same. It has always been so. You…” he sighed, leaning back on his heels. “You were the only one who could see the darkness. The hate, the fear, the guilt…” he closed that one burning eye of his and swallowed, heavy. “It was a relief, in some ways. Your judgement. But it was as I always feared it would be, too. After that, you could never see _both_ sides, could you? Only ever the one, no better than anyone else.” 

Guilt and shame and rage all burned low in his belly. He struggled for breath enough to speak with. “I saw… what no one else _would,_” he spat. “What I needed to see. I saw enough.” 

“You never looked at me again,” he said, shaking his head. That matted, tangled hair of his swayed back and forth. “Not truly. I caught you staring, often enough, and back then…” he stilled, frowning. “I still had hope. I thought, given enough time, you might see me, again.” His eye flickered over Felix’s face, catching his gaze and holding it, arresting it. “I hoped for that every day to the end,” he sighed. 

Felix scoffed at him, and then dissolved into a fit of coughing. His chest felt tight, and not just for lack of air. “The _end_,” he said, when he had his voice again, rough and raw and scraping out of him. “The end. What does that mean, exactly?” 

The prince only shrugged. Reached out a hand, again. This time, Felix merely watched him curiously, holding himself still. His fingers were cool against his face, resting over the line of his jaw. He swallowed, hard. 

“What are you doing,” he demanded. 

“I haven’t decided, yet." He slid his fingers up into Felix’s hair, tugging at the already loosened knot at the back. “You come here every day,” he said. “Always watching, even now. You are always watching me, Felix.” 

“Someone has to,” he rasped. His hair fell loose over his shoulders, and the prince ran his fingers through, his expression one of deep consideration. Felix held himself very still, breathing shallowly, afraid to so much as make a sound. Which was absurd. He had never in his life been afraid of Dimitri. Not even five minutes ago, when he had been fairly certain he was about to die. Scared _for_ him, perhaps, but that was not the same as this tight uncertainty choking him now. 

“I used to ask myself why that was,” Dimitri said. “I would puzzle over it, night after night.” 

“You could have just asked,” Felix said. “I would have told you then exactly what I’m telling you now. It was a necessity, boar. Nothing more.” 

“And that is why I did not ask. I thought you might lie.” 

“It’s hardly a _lie_, when --” 

“Felix.” Those fingers, so gentle before, tightened in his hair. Felix went tense, tilting his head back to relieve the pressure on his scalp. 

“_What?_” he snapped.

“I must confess something,” he said, and something about the way he said it, slow and soft and almost… teasing, it made Felix’s stomach clench and all his nerves light up at once. He slapped at the hand in his hair with a frustrated growl. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “Get off.” 

Dimitri pulled that hand of his back, disentangling it from Felix’s hair, and then stood, unfurling himself slowly from his crouch to stand over him in full. Then he reached that same hand down, a question on his face. 

Felix scoffed up at him, and took it. 

Dimitri hauled him up easily, as he had a thousand times before. Felix found his feet, and then immediately staggered, swaying unsteadily, another sweeping wave of nausea passing through him. Dimitri held him upright, his steel grip shifting from hand to forearm and then to his shoulders, holding him steady, pulling him close. Turning him about. Felix stumbled along with his guiding hands. 

“Stop that,” he protested, weakly. “This is your fault. What the hell am I supposed to tell Mercedes, when she asks what happened? Answer that, if you want to be useful.” 

“I used to listen to you,” Dimitri said, sounding very thoughtful indeed, low and breathy in Felix’s ear. He pulled him closer, until Felix’s back pressed against the unyielding bulk of his chipped and rusted breastplate.

“What are you doing,” Felix asked again, all his nerves alight anew at the sensation. He didn’t bother trying to pull away. Even at his best, he couldn’t have beaten Dimitri in such a contest of strength. “I think you’ve actually given me a concussion. Thanks so much. If I’m stuck in the infirmary for days, after this, I swear --” 

“_Felix_,” Dimitri said, louder, a little warning shivering through the tone he spoke it in. Felix fell quiet, silent save for his breathing. Dimitri pressed _something_ into his hair -- his face? His chin? His _lips?_ “Listen to me,” he said. “And listen well.” 

“To your confession,” Felix said, all too aware now of every movement, every place their bodies touched. “You can’t be serious,” he mumbled, weakly. Dimitri’s hands slid off his shoulders, down his arms. Felix held himself still, refusing to react to this -- teasing, _mocking_, whatever this was. 

“When we were students,” Dimitri said. “Do you recall, our rooms?” 

“What about them.” 

“They were beside each other.” 

Felix laughed, cold and scornful, though it soon dissolved into another fit of coughing. Dimitri held him patiently throughout, until it passed. His hands were on his hips now, Felix noted. Strange. “Yes, boar, I remember. As though I would forget. I had to see you just about every damned day, because of that.” 

“I often couldn’t sleep, even back then,” Dimitri went on, heedless or uncaring of the mockery in Felix’s voice. “At first, I tried to stay in bed. To will myself to sleep, though I knew it was pointless…” 

“This, too, is old news,” Felix said. Dimitri’s hands tightened on his hips, and then slowly circled around him, until his fingers were linked over Felix’s stomach. 

“I suppose so,” he said. “Very well. After awhile, I gave up on that nonsense. I would sit at my desk, studying, reading, taking notes until my eyes blurred…” 

“I don’t see why --” 

Flippantly, casual as anything, Dimitri lifted a hand and covered his mouth with it, muffling his words. Felix’s eyes went wide, and he inhaled sharply through his nose -- but Dimitri didn’t move to cut off his air, or even really to harm him. He simply tightened his arm around Felix’s waist and kept talking.

“Until one night, I overheard _you_, through that wall between us. I knew you were there, of course, but until that moment, I hadn’t realized… how _close._” 

Felix strongly considered biting him. 

Dimitri leaned in, breathing directly into his ear. “Do you know how you sounded?” he asked. “Let me show you.” And then he exhaled, his breath misting at the corner of Felix’s eye, and let out a soft, sensual, gasping little moan. Felix made an affronted sound, even as his heart went off like a jackrabbit in his chest, his face flushing something deeper than crimson, surely. Dimitri tightened his grip on his mouth and his waist and groaned softly at him again, hitching his breath. “I never would have said a word,” he said, and though he made an effort to speak normally, Felix could not have possibly missed how _affected_ he sounded, now. 

He did try to pull away, then. It was every bit as futile as he’d imagined it would be.

“Never in all my life,” Dimitri said, “Except, you know what happened next, don’t you?” 

He did. Of course he did.

“Say it for me,” Dimitri said, and then he let the hand he had pressed over Felix’s mouth drop, cradling his chin, instead. He craned his head up. 

“Dimitri,” Felix exhaled, dizzy, desperate and drowning in a flood of conflicting emotions, humiliation, shame, rage… wonder. Desire. He really was that pathetic, wasn’t he? How low could he possibly sink, entertaining this disgusting scenario even one moment longer? 

Dimitri smiled. It was no gentle thing, that smile. It was wild and unfettered, bloody and swollen, bright in an unpleasant, uncanny way, and Felix opened his mouth to tell him so, to tell him that he was making a mockery of things that ought to have been -- that _had_ been -- precious to him, private, only then Dimitri leaned in and kissed him. 

It was no soft consummation beneath the moonlight, either. 

It was hard and rough and mostly teeth, tinged with the taste of blood and the sour, unwashed scent of him, and even so, Felix groaned and closed his eyes and met his searching tongue willingly, groaning into his mouth. He felt disconnected, untethered, dizzy and disoriented. What was happening to him, to them? 

Dimitri pulled away, grinning, catching Felix’s bottom lip between his teeth as he did. 

“This isn’t right,” Felix panted at him, desperately. “You know this isn’t right.” 

“No,” he agreed. And then: “Tell me to stop.” He let go of his chin, and down below, he slid his hand down to grip Felix’s thigh with bruising strength. Felix said nothing, did nothing except stand there, shaking, captive and shamefully, horribly willing. “I could hardly believe it, that first night. I was sure I had heard wrong. But, ah, Felix, you know I didn’t, don’t you? And once I knew, I could hardly unlearn it. I couldn’t get it out of my head. But I knew, I _knew_ I couldn’t be the one to approach you. And so…” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like _this_,” Felix said, reaching for his arm, gripping it tight.

“I know,” Dimitri said, and just for a moment, that sadness was back. Then he dragged his hand up Felix’s thigh and let it rest between his legs, palming over the obvious lump, there. “So tell me to stop,” he repeated. 

Felix let his breath out in a noisy rush, sagging back against him. How to explain? He could hardly think. 

“If I tell you to stop,” he panted, “And you _don’t...._” he trailed off, covering Dimitri’s hand with his own, following the movements of his fingers, there. He closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling, wishing desperately that this were happening anywhere else, any_when_ else. “Then I’ll know,” he said, miserably. “Dimitri.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, rumbling at his back. “Yes, just like that. Say it again,” he commanded, squeezing him through his pants, stroking him. “Or tell me to stop.” 

“Dimitri,” Felix whispered. He couldn’t bear to look.

“I used to sit there, with you,” Dimitri sighed. His fingers roamed high, too high, and Felix blinked stupidly before he realized that he was loosening his belt. He swallowed, hard, and still he said nothing. “I would open myself up, just like this.” He yanked his pants open, none too gently, jerking Felix’s hips back in his urgency. “Touch myself, just like this,” he said, and Felix hissed softly as Dimitri’s hand found his cock and wrapped firm around the base. “Imagine your hand on me… and mine on you, just like this.” He stroked him as he spoke, and Felix shuddered against him, hard and aching and eager, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He hadn’t known. He’d never known, never guessed. His thoughts raced and his face burned. 

“Why are you doing this,” he said, finally, gasping the question around his pleasure. “Why _now._ Like this. To humiliate me? For your own gratification? Tell… ah, _shit_...” he swallowed, hard. “Tell me why.” 

“Tell me to stop,” Dimitri replied, predictable as anything. His fingers stilled on him, and Felix let out a humiliating, desperate little protesting whimper and rocked his hips forward, seeking a resumption of those attentions. 

Instead, Dimitri marched him forward, and Felix gasped and shot out a hand, catching himself on that same stone pillar as Dimitri shoved him toward it. 

“I am doing this because you want me to,” Dimitri said, harsh in his ear. “And because I want to, as well. I waited so long for your forgiveness,” he scoffed. “I was a fool to hope for such a thing. To think myself _worthy_ of such.” He reached about and resumed his attentions, gripping him harder, stroking him faster than before. Felix gasped and sagged forward and shuddered, supporting himself, gripping that pillar tight.

“It was never about _worthy,_” he said, even as he chased Dimitri’s pace with his own rocking hips. “It was about -- honesty, and, ah, Goddess, please…” he groaned, sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, and then, to his horror, exhaled on a hitching, half sob. He shook his head, blinking furiously. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you? _You._ Not this, this thing that you’ve become.” 

“We are the same,” Dimitri growled, pressing his nose against the side of his neck, scraping his teeth over the skin, there. Felix groaned, quietly, panting, moaning. “The man and the beast. Always the same. Even now.” 

He left off his ministrations, and Felix tilted his chin up and stared upward at nothing, at the cracks and patterns in the stone before him, breathing hard. His hips jerked as Dimitri yanked his pants down over them, exposing him further. He laughed breathlessly up at the same nothing he stared at, disbelieving. 

“Is that your own conclusion, or just another whisper of the dead?” 

“My own,” Dimitri said. “But I think you know the truth of it. Perhaps you loved a man, Felix, but tell me true. Haven’t you always wanted to be fucked by the beast?” 

He laughed again, shame curling up through him, sparking down his spine. “Is that another thing you overheard through that wall of ours?” 

“Not quite.” Dimitri brushed his hair aside, and slid his fingers around the back of his neck, gripping tight. “I had only to watch the way you watched me, to know that it was true.” He pushed him down and forward, bending him at the waist, pressing his face against the stone. Felix licked his lips, and tasted blood and salt. 

He felt Dimitri angle himself at his entrance, felt the thick, hot line of him as he rocked his hips against him and the blunt press of his cock against his hole. He exhaled a shuddering breath, gripping the stone so tightly his fingers ached, his knuckles bone white.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he shot back at him, breathlessly defiant. “All this bold talk of beasts and fucking, have you ever even -- you -- oh, ah, shit, Dimitri, _shit!_” 

He had told himself, in sullen, tight-jawed certainty, that he wouldn’t shout. Wouldn’t scream. Wouldn’t give the boar the satisfaction of hearing what it did to him, whatever _it_ was. 

He didn’t scream. He _howled._

The first moments were the worst -- all pain and nothing more as Dimitri, the boar, the _beast_ invaded him, stretching him around his girth, opening him and claiming him and viciously demanding more. He jerked forward, crying out, and Dimitri tightened his grip at the back of his neck and held him fast, pressing forward, filling him, and filling him, and filling him still, until he thought for certain it was too much, it would kill him, it would split him in two. 

And yet. 

And _yet_, eternities after that first, shocking invasion, when the roar in his ears lessened and the pained, static shock up his spine became a scattered thing rather than a constant, when Dimitri shifted his angle and thrust forward and the hard, unyielding head of his cock brushed past a certain spot, deep inside… a different sort of spark raced through him, warm and urgent and breathtakingly, unbelievably good, the perfect complement to all the rest. 

He sucked in a breath, his throat raw and hoarse and throbbing, and groaned desperately, moving his hips against Dimitri’s quick, brutal movements, trying to catch that same angle each time he filled him anew. 

He became aware too of Dimitri’s pleasure, and there was an unmistakable heat that rose in him, listening to that -- his panting breaths, his needy moans, and most of all, the way he groaned his name reverently with each swing of his hips, the way he’d always done in all of Felix’s most private, embarrassing fantasies. 

“Fuck,” Felix gasped, hardly sounding like himself at all. His voice became a litany, a march of _fuck_ and _please_ and _Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri._

He bucked his hips forward and let out a wordless cry when he came, tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks and wetting the stone of the pillar that scraped against his skin with every thrust, every indecent slap of skin on skin. He sagged against it, after that, weak and spent and boneless, and Dimitri growled at his back and lurched them both down to the floor, on their knees, where he could arch himself over Felix and consume him completely. He pressed that steel breastplate of his hard against Felix’s back, scraping his skin through his shirt with each wild thrust, holding his hips up and steady while Felix curled his fists and bit into the back of his hand and sobbed in incandescent, overstimulated agony. 

And then, with one final, stuttering thrust, Dimitri cried his name into his ear, shuddering atop him, and went still. 

“Felix,” Dimitri repeated, pressing his face into his hair. “Oh… Felix…” 

He shook beneath him. He lifted a hand, weakly, and scrubbed his face with it, wiping away sweat and tears and spit. “Get off,” he croaked, though he hardly had the energy to enforce the order. “Get the hell off of me.” 

Dimitri sucked in one deep, final breath, and let him go. 

He did collapse, at first, shocked by the weight of his own body and the deep, agonizing burn that seemed to radiate from every part of him: his ass, his knees, his head, his face. He would have bruises everywhere Dimitri had grabbed him, he thought, hips and waist and neck and arms. Goddess save him. He crawled forward on hands and knees and forearms scraped raw, and forced himself upright enough to kneel in place on his own. Good enough. It let him yank his pants back up over his hips, let him button himself with shaking fingers. He’d made a hell of a mess. He’d deal with it later.

He could feel Dimitri’s one eye on him, watching, weighing every motion. 

He looked up.

Dimitri held up his hands and shrugged. “Now you know,” he said. “Isn’t it better, that way?” 

He scoffed, though he was shaking, still, his belt rattling against its own buckle as he fastened it anew. “I wish you had told me,” he said, quietly. “All those years ago. I wish…” he frowned, and wrinkled his nose against the way it prickled and stung. Fuck. He lifted his arm, wiping his face, his eyes, against his sleeve. He met Dimitri’s one impassive eye. “I would have done anything for you, you know. Anything at all.” 

“Would you, still?” Dimitri asked, softly. 

“I don’t know.” His stomach roiled at the very thought of standing. He swallowed, hard. Dimitri just nodded. Nodded and stood, himself, all neatly tucked back away, looking for all the fucking world like nothing had even happened. Unkempt as he was, cloaked in that cape, that armor… Felix blinked up at him, and felt very small, and very used, indeed. 

Dimitri held out his hand.

It should have been laughable. Inconceivable, really. But he sighed, a depth of exasperation and despair and, even now, inescapable fondness in the sound. 

“Damn you,” he muttered, even as he reached up inevitably, like always, to take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Now pwease check out this amazing comic based on this fic, by [1ssa on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/shit_anuyan/status/1211075138977878017) 🥺❤
> 
> (You can also find me at [@landofsmthsmth](https://twitter.com/landofsmthsmth) as always)


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